Disturbances
by GESTALTminds
Summary: This time it isn't Luke.


**Title:**Disturbances  
**Chapter: **Oneshot  
**Rating: **R/NC-17  
**Pairing: **Sylar/Luke  
**Warning: **Language, masturbation, voyeurism, slight humor  
**Summary: **This time it isn't Luke.  
**Word Count: **1447  
**Spoilers: **Season 2, I think? But it's extremely vague  
**Author's Note:** This idea seriously just came out of nowhere. xD Gotta love the spontaneity of my imagination~.  
**Disclaimer: **I'm still poor, neither of them are my slaves, and the fandom belongs to Tim Kring and whoever else has copyrights to Heroes.  
______

Catching a teenage boy masturbate is normal. Younger siblings and sometimes even parents walk in on their brother or son wanking to fantasies, or if they aren't very creative, porn. But Sylar was neither parent nor sibling. Hell, he and Luke weren't even related! (Thank God for that because the kid would've been disowned a long time ago.) So Mr. Sylar wasn't aware of the frequency of adolescent male masturbation. Sure, he'd been seventeen at some point, but nerds like him were too busy watching the SciFi Channel, studying for an upcoming test, or preparing a cosplay costume for the upcoming _Lord of the Rings_ convention.

Therefore, it was plain irritating to wake up to strange noises coming from the motel bed next to his in the middle of the night. Sylar would be confused until he'd glance over at the kid's bed and see him curled on his side, facing Sylar, and beating his meat with great urgency. That was when he'd roll his eyes and shout "If it's that goddamn important, go to the fucking bathroom. I'm trying to get some sleep here." Luke would always jump with a start, apologize awkwardly, and turn away.

Minutes of sweet silence would go by, but the moment Sylar's breathing became deep and rhythmic the noises would begin.

One time the serial killer had gotten up and actually _dragged_ the kid to the bathroom and locked him in. He'd still be there next morning, stomach streaked with dry cum. Luke would be kicked for his lack of hygiene and Sylar would say "Hurry and shower. Don't use all the hot water."

He'd get in the shower and all the hot water would be gone.

Presently, Sylar was standing outside and arcade, calmly sipping on some Starbucks coffee (black, no sugar, which was apparently "badass of him" by Luke's standards). Speaking of him, the boy convinced the no nonsense guy to let him play video games because some "tough guys" didn't think he could beat them in _Street Fighter_. The ten minutes Sylar told Luke he had turned into an hour after bets were placed. The no nonsense guy approved now as long as they were getting money.

Sighing quietly, the rugged-looking man eyed the youth impatiently and checked his watch. They needed to get going soon. He still had to find his father, after all.

"We need to leave, Luke."

"Just one more game!" he called distractedly.

"You said that last time."

"I mean it this time!"

He pursed his lips. "I'm leaving. If you're not back at the motel in twenty minutes I'm going on without you." Sylar didn't wait for an agreement as he tossed his Styrofoam cup in a trashbin and walked away.

Once he entered their shared room, Sylar lounged gratefully on his bed. It was a nice and relaxing change being able not to hear constant shouts of "_Hadouken!"_ Unfortunately, his brief recline didn't last long due to his decision to take a quick shower. He was dried and fully clothed eight minutes later. Packing took even less time since they didn't have many clothes. He stowed away Luke's too just because it gave him something to do, not because he was being nice.

Sylar returned to his surprisingly comfortable mattress when he was finished. His lids fluttered shut to fall deeper into Zen, but was interrupted by the unbearably stuffy temperature in the room. (Funny that he didn't notice when the water was cooling on his skin.) Getting up, he attempted to turn the air conditioner on only to remember it was broken. He improvised by shedding his clothes, all except black cotton boxer-briefs.

It was near impossible to relax now. He kept shuffling around on the bed, undecided in if he should lie on his back, stomach, or side. Sylar choose his back and soon fingers massaged at his exposed abdomen as he settled down. He thought about swimming in a chilly lake, visualizing himself backstroking. Then he'd dive deep into the clean water, awed by schools of fish passing. He'd push back up to the surface afterward, lay on his back and just let himself float leisurely.

Sylar's eyes peeled open upon feeling an oddity stirring down below. A tent had claimed the front of his underwear unbeknownst to him. Eyebrow quirking, the man tried to figure out why plunging in a lake would turn him on. He blamed it on the heat. His imagination and the temperature must have made his body register it as pleasure, which it was, just not in a sexual sense.

Laying in bed with an erection was awkward. He was too tired (or lazy) to take a cold shower to fix this problem. And, he had to admit, it'd been a while since he achieved _that _kind of satisfaction. Killing could only bring so much joy, after all. Even if he was a serial killer, he'd always be a man first.

Without further ado, Sylar dug his hand into the garment and grasped the thickness there firmly. His mouth parted in a quiet gasp, body tensing slightly. _It has been too long._ he thought absently while watching his concealed hand begin to move. Precum drizzled lethargically down his length, twisting in his blunt fingers and over his knuckles. Licking dry lips, a soft low rumbling sounded from his throat.

Sylar increased his tempo as he squeezed tighter. The palm encasing his girth was a tailored glove designed to for this purpose. Clipped nails added an underlying sweet sting with each climb up or down. Head falling back, the man's shoulders rolled into the mattress to assist in the arch that pressed him up and into that talented hand.

Breathing required a bit more effort than it should as his hips finally behind to rock. Steady and calm, obviously in no hurry. He propped a leg up subconsciously, giving just a bit more room to tug himself. Faster he went, harder he held, louder he was. The noises he made upgraded from panting and were now worthy of being called groans.

When sweat beaded his skin Sylar knew it wasn't from the warm air. His current actions resulted in making his body hot to a near uncomfortable degree. Plagued with a fever of desire, Sylar added flicks of his wrists and thrust quickly into his teasing. He grit his teeth and gripped the headboard with his free hand as his motions changed to desperate.

"F-fuck…" he grumbled hoarsely, exhaling heavily. All Sylar wanted was to get rid of a nuisance and it was becoming a chore. It irked him that it was taking so long to come. _Maybe thirty really is old…_

God seemed to answer his prayer because soon he could feel a building tension in his gut. He opened his eyes quickly and scooted up to prop himself against the pillows. His boxers were shoved out the way, bundled just above his knees, to pump himself more efficiently. The fluids leaking from his tip made his rod slicker, which quickened the palm working it. The man's vigorous skills brought him his sought after bliss shortly after. Sitting up abruptly, Sylar cried out crisply, head snapping back, and hips bucking off the bed as ribbons streamed down in graceful arcs between his legs.

The sound of his harsh breathing brought the serial killer down from cloud nine, though his eyes remained shut. Falling back also made him aware of his sweaty condition. But after that work out, he was still too tired to do something about it. Dragging a clean hand down his face, the older man tucked himself back in before letting his arms spread out limply across the bed.

Swallowing thickly, he opened his mouth and said, "You can stop hiding now, Luke."

The motel door swung back instantly to reveal a shocked seventeen-year-old boy. "How the hell did you know I was here?" Luke asked incredulously.

Sylar smirked, gaze lingering on brown orbs. "Whenever I wasn't panting you were." he answered simply and mustered the strength to push himself up.

"Holy fuck, I thought you couldn't hear me."

"A deaf person could hear you. You're not exactly discreet, Luke." Sylar deadpanned.

Blushing and glaring, the teen entered fully with a forceful closing of the door. He slunk down on his own bed and crossed his arms. There was an obvious bulge in his jeans that proved Sylar's statement to be correct. _What's another hour of waiting?_ A devious smirk plastered his face as he closed the distance between them and loomed over the younger male.

"Need any help with that?" Sylar offered before claiming Luke's mouth in a no nonsense kiss.


End file.
